The Greatest Hits

In honour of being in Ireland for one year, I've compiled my greatest hits as voted on by me. Like I would ask you guys? I can't get you to comment, let alone nominate your favourite posts. So, here are mine:


February

Welcome to my blog. I never thought I'd say that. By my sister has convinced me that this will be much easier to let everyone live vicariously thru me on my little overseas experiment. And so I have created the Vespa Adventures. The title of the best selling book I authored in the universe I rule in my head.


March

St. Patrick's Day 2005, Dublin Ireland. As the card says, it's a fine line between 'celebrate' and 'riot'.
Everyone left at a good time. After a very subtle hint, but they went into the night happily. That's all a girl can ask for after she announces "We love you. Go home." Hey! I'm an American; it's my job to be rude and pushy.
It was beautiful this weekend. I realized that I make this decision no longer based on whether I can have lunch outside without getting sun stroke, but on a more rigorous set of standards. A beautiful day is one where A- I can see blue sky B- I cannot see my breath and C- I do not need my hat.


April

Some days when I'm walking thru the city, I feel like Ally Mc Beal. You remember that part of the show where she's walking thru the streets not talking (the good part of the show) and everyone wishes they had a similar walk home after work? I feel like that some days. I step off the bus or out of a taxi and head off to where ever it is that I'm going and I think 'yeah, that show really sucked'.

The following day we drove to Country Antrim, home of really only 2 things: Bushmills and the Giants Causeway. We did Bushmills first, because if you're gonna fall off a cliff, best do it after a good strong shot.


May

No, I’m not dating him for his car. I’m dating him for his Lear jet. And for his camel caravan. You just don’t meet many men these days that own camels…

My biggest problem with the class is that it's taught by Velma. As in Scooby Doo. I swear, she looks exactly like her but not cartoon and with a heavy Tuscan accent. I keep wanting to raise my hand and ask if we get Scooby Snacks if we answer correctly.

Typical Dublin day. Soft as they call it. The rain is misting so you really can't feel it, but you can see it. I like these days. Everything is quieter than normal, like that first night it snows. It layers everything in a crisp white blanket that smolders the noise to a hush. It's so soft you can almost hear the silence. The mist here is like that.


June

So, I went to Scotland about a month ago. For 4 days. Finally!! I've been obsessed with Scottish men and music for so long and I finally washed ashore with my boyfriend. No, wait. That can't be right... Yep... Tax boy agreed to go with me, poor sap.

I floated back to the hotel (alone sadly) and sent what both Susan and Joe refer to as “the best text message of the decade”: back at hotel. Slightly drunk. Have had first marriage proposal. Paris rocks. When’s dinner?”

So I'll go call my father today and thank him for not taking Mom to the movies that night and for not leaving me on side of a road during those turbulent teen years. We'll talk for about 5 minutes and then he'll pass me on to mom. I think all dads are like that. "Hi. Hello. You alive? You well? Good, good... well here's your mother"

We shopped a little and I got sucked into a leather store. They had the most beautiful shoes… and a 50% off sale, so really? How could I resist?? Turns out, after much flirting from the salesman, I am a sucker for leather Italian handbags. Yep… bought Italian in Scotland.


July

I was at my favoritete wine bar, Dowling's, (favorite because the French manager has a heavy hand while pouring and a light hand while adding my tab) ((and he flirts with me like crazy)) , so I was in Dowling's exploring my newest passion, Loire Valley whites when in walks Andrew McCarthy. He walked in, glanced over at me and smiled (the teenager in me swooned) and then walked right out the back door and disappeared. Evidently he's not a fan of Loire Valley whites.

In other news... my mother, bless her, seems to think the only thing I do over here is drink. Wonder what gave her that idea?

I am officially acclimatized to Ireland. I just sent an email to my mom (hi Mom!) saying how hot it was here the past couple of days, must be 80 degrees out there this morning. I just checked and it’s actually 73. (insert eye rolling here)

It was the usual Friday night in the pub: women dressed indecently men dressed like they rolled out of a trash heap.


August

If you stand on the side of the curb and aren't careful, you can get whacked in the head by the bus mirror. And you can't really claim to have been hit by a bus; you've been hit by a bus accessory which is worse because sympathy isn't coming after your friends' peals of laughter die. Unless of course you're really injured, which could happen. Some of those guys really haul.

FS has a friend who lives there, so we went to visit her, a wee small lass named Audrey, now christened Wee Audrey. Wee because she’s tiny, not because she pees a lot. Just to set the record straight. (hi Audrey!)
So back to Talkey Bronx Boy. He prattled on, I said very little and then there was a critical pause. I thought I’d spaced out and missed something but no, he was just taking a breath and looking up at the sunset. Just as I’d sensed my escape, he looked at me, smiled and said “You never asked what I do. Aren’t you curious what I do for a living? To be fair, I basically just told you…” That’s when I decided to sneak out of the bar.


September

So I took a picture of them with my phone and went home to my trusty crappy non-Italian shoes. This is why I hate shopping. It makes you greedy. It makes you unhappy with what you have. Granted, my shoes are a little worse for the wear after all the walking they've done this year, but there's nothing inherently wrong with my choice of footwear. (shut up Ron) But the shoes in the store would surely make my life so much better. Instantly, birds would serenade me as I walked thru the streets. Trees would shelter me with their canopies. Flowers would waft their scent as I passed. How can I not want those shoes?! It's just that I want them for €50.

Riding along as usual, reading something, the bus stops, the door open and I look up just in time to see the driver (who, incidentally I call the Captain because he wears a cap and reminds me of Captain and Tennille. Not that I have many memories of them but still…) the driver holds up one finger (a polite one) and calls out to us “One minute” and then gets off the bus, goes into a shop and buys 2 packets of crisps and a newspaper. 2 minutes later we were on our way. I especially loved that he excused himself to us first, like we were going to go anywhere in the meantime.

After we took our canapés the girl said to take more, it was the last of the appetizers and the food wouldn’t be ready for an hour or so. Bossy Girl and I stared at each other for a moment and then proceeded to politely clean out her tray. I havn't mastered the art of canapés and cocktails, never more apparent than last night. And really, for the number of cocktail parties I’ve been to, you’d think I’d have it down by now. But no. Awkward balancing followed by wolfing of delicate canapé in order to avoid spilling champagne all over the floor.

Anyway, one of these lovelies was appointed the Ring Master and was wearing a top hat, black tails, fishnets, satin hot pants and a very shiny black and white bustier. She even had a cane to smack down the rowdies. Oh, and red sequined lipstick. No I wasn’t drunk, she actually had sparkly lips. It’s like Dorothy’s shoes mated with a hooker and then joined the circus.


October

So Melanie and Cathy start looking for "a table with mostly men and then send Beth in". Yep, my new nickname is Bait. So we camped out beside just such a table and tried to initiate contact. Eye contact, some initial flirting, things going well. Except they don't speak English. Sort of crucial to the plan... And then 4 fraulins sat themselves down, so yeah, time to cut bait. Twila (Mel's mom) and I take a walk around the tent looking for another table, preferably one in a much warmer location than the front door, and find a prime spot in front of a table of 10 men. Bingo. We move the group and begin trying to break into their group. No dice. No eye contact, no flirting, no nothing. And then I take a good long look. And realize they're all gay.

Melanie, Hippie and I waited for my friend Franco to arrive. He was enrolled in an English course here in Dublin a few months ago. We met at a tango exhibition and got to talking; very nice man, scientist of some sort, nutrition, vitamins, supplements, that sort of thing. Anyway, he arrived and holy hell, did his English take a nose dive.

By that time, my headache went from pounding to “please shoot me” migraine, so Hippie and Mel had to get our tickets changed/refunded, while I put my head down on the table in McDonalds and begged for death. Train stations are loud… They got it all taken care of and I poured myself in a cab and went home. Poor driver. No, dick driver. He was yelling at me for something, I can’t remember what, but just being mean to me when I rolled down the window and almost threw up. That shut him up; oh that’s what it was… he was upset that I only had a 50 euro note for my 7 euro fare. He counted the change quickly when he realized he had a sick woman in the front seat of his car.


November

We have on woman who seems to be there only to drink the wine. As soon as it hits her glass, the glass hits her lips. No smelling the wine, no evaluating, just Shoot! Last night it took her 3 whole seconds to pronounce (loudly I might add) “Oh that’s much better than the first one!” I believe this is the woman whose husband described a wine as ‘rotting socks’. Personally, I thought it smelled of pineapple, but I’ve been known to be wrong.

I've been using my 6 years of higher education to great advantage by assuring that the plants are turned fullest side out, that the conference tables have matching chairs and by stuffing the leftover crap, but which I mean office furniture hand-me-downs, into the boiler room. It's been great fun.


December

I need a chocolate brown cardigan for a dress that I’m planning on wearing to our Christmas Party tonight. Fairly simple request I felt; I looked for 3 days with no luck. Evidently, I’m asking the impossible. After 3 hours of “shopping” I trudged home, tired, hungry, and, let’s face it, feeling like a loser. What normal woman can go shopping, fully intending to part with her money, actually says to the sales clerk ‘I don’t care what it costs at this point’ and comes home empty handed?!

I decided to treat myself to one last Barnie’s coffee (I wonder if they’ll go out of business now?) and managed to get another free cup because I know that the literal translation of karaoke is “empty orchestra”. I’m a Cowan and we specialize in this sort of stupid information. I can’t tell you what my phone number is or what my cross streets are but I know I read once a couple of years ago the meaning of the word karaoke.

We got a drink and watched what I can only describe as the whitest dance floor on earth. I’m not Martha Graham but dear me… the kids need some MTV.

FYI, at 4 am after many, m a n y , free drinks, typing, isn't my strongest skill. In fact, it's painful.


January:

These are the men I spend most of my time with. I go to bed with Harry (Potter) and have breakfast at Barnie's (coffeehouse) Is it infedelity if neither one is a real person?

So as I was wandering the street and beginning to formulate a curse, Rob-bob popped out on the street to rescue me and any passers by. So much for my cool entrance. "Look at me, I'm lost"

Ah, the rugged Irish coastline. The fresh sea air. The slight drizzle of the rain. At one point it got pretty steep and I remember thinking, this is going to hurt going back up, but I soldiered on like a good host. We stopped to take photos and that's when the boys decided they'd had enough. Seen it, done it, got the photos. A good 10 minute hike works up quite an appetite, let me tell you.

I've done it. I moved out of my first Irish home. It felt like I was leaving the country.